Monday, March 3, 2008
Happy Birthday Baby!
Eight-years-ago today you entered this world. I felt those early labor pains, familiar after your brother, and knew you were coming. But we had time. We took your brother to preschool. We told him he’d be able to meet you when school got out. I called Grandma and Grandpa. We went to the mall; all of us - you, me, Daddy, Grandma, Grandpa and Great-Grandma. We bought a rug - the one that sits under the coffee table at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. We walked around the mall stopping only when the pain demanded. You were getting closer.
We needed to eat. Actually you and I didn’t eat but the rest of them did. We went to the Olive Garden. We sat at the big round table in the back. The waiter was concerned. He did not understand why everyone was eating and chatting when you were on your way. I didn’t want to get to the hospital too soon. I didn’t want to be chastised by the labor nurse. I cheated. I took one bite of ravioli - did you enjoy it? We left a big tip. Then we went to the hospital. It was time, you were coming.
The doctor broke my water (the sack of fluid that cushioned you from this world). There was no going back. The anesthesiologist was busy, someone was having surgery and required his assistance. You were coming despite the pain.
We were all there; you, me, Daddy, Grandma, Grandpa and Great-Grandma. The room was big and had south-facing windows filtering the afternoon light. I pushed and pushed. Suddenly you came, a full head of black hair, two inches long, an afternoon baby, bathed in gorgeous light. You were quiet. I was worried. I should have known you were merely taking it all in, observing. And then you cried, your lungs filled with oxygen, you had decided to join us after all. You, my smart, sweet, gorgeous little baby had arrived.
Papa went to get your brother. You looked up at me with those big blue questioning eyes, “Are you my mother?” The nurse bathed and swaddled you. Great-Grandma held you in her arms, 92 years between generations, the continuum of life. Your brother came. He looked at you and said “Hi baby!” He showed you how to turn a straw into a whistle. He watched you eat. He asked, “Mommy, is there chocolate milk in your boobies?” You would ask this same question in another four years.
And here we are, 2922 days later, leap years included. You are still my baby, my smart sweet sassy gorgeous little baby. I love you more than you’ll every know. Happy Birthday little baby! Happy Birthday!
All my love,